


Be My Starlight - Abbi B. - Wattpad

by Abbisnail



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, lots of fluff!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-08-08 09:05:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16426451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abbisnail/pseuds/Abbisnail





	1. End of the Term

Finally the term is almost over, the winter holiday starts at the end of the day. Classes are dull, nothing I haven't already figured out on my own. Mycroft has offered to homeschool me, but I decided to stick it out for my last year. I don't need to go to college, though I think I will. I'm smart enough to make it into any of the best universities, just think it would be a waste of my time. I already have a job of sorts, aconsulting detective. The Scotland Yard police are hopeless, failing to solve the simplest of cases, so I often help with things. No one likes me hanging around there much, but if they didn't get help we would never get anything done. I am working on a case right now actually, three deaths in the past four weeks. My cell buzzes, probably a message about the case. I look down discreetly, surprised at who is messaging me.

Come straight home today. Be bloody careful, father is in a bad mood. -MH

I don't respond, turning back to my schoolwork instead. Father is never in a good mood, but if Myroft is texting me about means he is worse than usual. Class is over quickly, me being as distracted by the case as I am. John meets me in the hall, walking to our finial block together. He kisses me lightly on the cheek before we walk into the room, taking our seats quickly. I complete my work before the professor is finished explaining the lesson, placing my papers on the top right corner of my desk. The minutes tick by so slowly its painful, boredom sinking in quickly. John texts me a few times, checking in on me. The final bell rings at last, bringing relief to everyone. I take my time packing my things, excited to be done with school for a few weeks. The corridors are filled with crazed students, air filled with excited chatter. John meets me at my locker, apologizing that he can't walk home with me today. We do start walking towards the door, but are stopped by a group of boys from the football team. John is, or rather was, on the team previously. He dropped out when we started dating.

"Look, its the freak! Hopefully we dont see him when the next term starts."

John places his hand on my shoulder in an attempt to calm me down, cursing when I lunge towards the boys. I know I dont have a chance, its two against five, but I attack them anyways.

"Sherlock no!"

I am pulled back by John before I can make contact, he obviously doesn't want a fight today. He pulls me down, releasing me when one of the boys sends his foot into my side.

"Bloody hell!"

The boys continue beating me, though I manage to hit a few of them before it is over. I am finished once someone kicks me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. They scatter, leaving me and John alone on the cold tile.

"You can't do this anymore Sherlock. You're going to get hurt one day, seriously injured."

"I know."

He helps me up, allowing most of my weight to be supported by him as we rise. We walk out of the building now, and he walks me home despite the fact he is now late to get home. He kisses me again, making me promise to stay out of trouble, before sprinting down the street. I stand on the terrace, watching him as he disappears around a corner.

"William! Get into the house now."

I turn to see my father, obviously fuming about something. As soon as the door closes he slams me against the wall, my head slamming back into it. He must have seen me with John, further upsetting him. This turns out to be true, as he begins screaming at me about it. I flinch back when he raises his arm to hit me, remaining silent throughout the beating. Mrs. Hudson and mother aren't home right now, probably out shopping, so he continues to scream at me. Mycroft doesn't come out to help me as he usually does, he isn't home either. I can smell the alcohol on his breath when he speaks, face inches from mine. When I try to leave, he slams me back against the wall, shattering a picture. The glass digs into my flesh, drawing blood.

"Clean this up!"

I kneel down, gingerly scraping up the glass. The flat is strangely silent, more so than usual. The reason why hits me suddenly, Redbeard usualy would have run out to help me. I hurry and finish cleaning the floor, running to my room once I'm done. My dog is nowhere to be seen, though his favorite ball is lying on my bed. I answer my cell when it rings, Mycroft is calling.

"Did you make it home okay?"

"Not really. He is in a really bad mood, and the kids at school bothered us again."

"Bloody hell. Can you stay in your room until I get back? Im almost home."

"Sure."

I sit on the floor, leaning against my bed. Redbeards ball rolls off the bed, so I grab it and toss it against the wall repeatedly. I leave the lights off, window open to let in the chill. My floor quickly settles to a comfortable icy temperature, just the way I need it to relax. The hardwood doesn't take long to adjust, much to my liking. I travel to my mind palace, needing an escape from the pain that throbs through my body often these days.

"Sherlock?"

Mycroft opens the door, coming in to sit by my side.

"It's bloody cold in here Sherlock, what're you doing?"

"It's perfect. I enjoy the cold."

He doesn't respond, just messes with my hair for a moment. His voice is heavy when he speaks next.

"Something happened Sherlock."

"Where is my dog?"

"That's the problem. He.. he's gone. Im sorry."

I am confused for a moment, the vet said he would be okay. That he would recover from what happened. Father kicked him, hard, when he tried to help me. He broke two ribs and bruised another.

"No."

I am denying it, feeling a deep sadness run through me. He is, was, my only friend other than John. He cant be gone. I make a sound that is somewhere between a scream and a sob, choking. Mycroft hugs me tightly, letting me cry into his suit. Mother and Mrs. Hudson come in soon after, sitting beside us on the floor. I fall asleep eventually, waking to find myself alone and the room heated. Mrs. Hudson probably closed my window again. Redbeards ball is still in my hands, bringing back the grief. Mycroft returns when I start throwing the ball against the wall again, trying to get me to say something to him.


	2. The List

John?- SH

Hey, whats up?- JW

Can you meet me at the park please?- SH

Its ten in the evening Sherlock.- JW

Please.- SH

I'll be right over.- JW

"Im going out mum! Ill be back as soon as I can."

"Where are you going John dear?"

"Sherlock needs... help with something."

"Be careful!"

"I will mum."

I pull on my coat and shoes, running out the door and hopping on my bike. The ride to the park doesn't take too long, but Sherlock is already here. I drop my bike and run over to where he is sitting on the cement, in deep concentration. He looks high again, not a good thing. I call Mycroft on my cell, explaining the situation to him.

"Where is the list John?"

"What? What list?"

"Don't leave him, and make sure he stays there please. I'm heading over now."

"I will."

I sit beside Sherlock, trying to pull him back to me. He doesn't respond to anything though, just sits there. A black car pulls up soon, Mycroft jumps out and runs over to us.

"Has he responded to anything?"

"No."

"Given you the list? Anything?"

"N...No."

He sits beside Sherlock, talking to him softly. I pull back, surprised when Mycroft waves me over.

"When he does this, he makes a list. Usually leaves it in his pocket."

Mycroft reaches into Sherlock's pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. It crinkles when he unfolds it, cursing when he sees what's on it.

"Morphine again."

"Overdose?"

"Doesn't look like it. I need to get him home though."

He picks Sherlock up and takes him to the car. I sit on the ground long after they leave, staring at the spot where Sherlock sat. My cell buzzes, pulling me from my thoughts.

I'm awake now. Mycroft told me to message you.- SH

Bloody hell Sherlock. What did you do?- JW

He takes his time responding, leaving me in silence for a few minutes.

Redbeard is gone, I needed someone to come get me.- SH

You got bloody high and called me to the park so I could take you home?!- JW

Yes.- SH

Why?- JW

Because I trust you.- SH

He signs off now, leaving me to ponder his words. I grab my bike and ride around the streets for an hour before riding home. Mum is in the sitting room waiting for me, hugging me when she sees I am home okay.

"I got a call from the Holmes boy, the older one. He told me what happened. Are you okay John dear?"

"I don't know yet mum, I'm worried about Sherlock. He got high again, and his dog died today."

She pulls me back into a hug, stroking my hair. I let her walk me to my room, bidding her a good night before she leaves. I am half asleep when my phone buzzes again, waking me back up.

Meet me at my house tomorrow please. Use the back way, don't let my father see you.- SH

Whats going on?- JW

Just need to see you.- SH

Are you okay Sherlock?- JW

Still no.- SH

Ill be there. I promise. Be careful Sherlock.-JW

I cant promise you anything. Good night John. I love you.- SH

I love you too Sherlock, I'll see you tomorrow.- JW

He signs off, and I turn my cell off. I fall asleep worried about tomorrow, a sick feeling settling in my stomach. I grab my bike and ride aimlessly down the nearly empty streets, leaving the house around midnight. I head back home around two, after the lights shut off in the flat. Mum is still sleeping thankfully, so I am able to jump in bed without her noticing. In the morning she wakes me up, telling me she won't be home till after supper tonight. I eat breakfast alone, sitting around the house until around lunch time. Still no messages from Sherlock, he is oddly silent today. I wait until almost sunset to walk over, slipping in the back gate as Sherlock asked. Something, someone, is lying in the top branches of Sherlocks tree near the window. I scale the tree at a careful speed, not wanting to slip. As I reach the top, I realize Sherlock is lying shirtless in the tree. He is shaking, bloody high again. I wake him, afraid this will be the time he overdoses on me.

 


	3. The High

I stuff a wad of cash into my coat pocket, sliding my window open as quietly as I can. The winter breeze reminds me to grab my scarf before I drop onto the thick limb of my tree. I pause for a moment at the bottom, feeling a moment of sadness as I kneel by the stone that marks the resting place of one of my only friends, my dog. His collar is still in my coat pocket, I haven't taken it out since his death. My hands are shaking, I ran out of medicine again. I'm out to get more, not too difficult if you have cash and know who to look for. The gate creaks open as I slip through, closing slowly in the breeze. I turn up my collar as it starts snowing, shielding my face. The path to the park is empty, as it always is at this hour, making it easier to move between the shadows pooled between the streetlamps. 

I slink to the bench where my supplier will be waiting, as always, to exchange the cash for my salvation. Drugs and John are the only things I have found to keep me sane since Redbeards death, only yesterday. The pain feels fresh as my fingers brush against his collar while pulling out my cash. I blink away the tears quickly, knowing the pain will be numbed soon. The exchange is silent and fast, leaving me plenty of time to walk back home. I scale the tree, again pausing at the bottom, and slip into my room. My window creaks slightly again, causing me to wince. I unpack my coat pockets now, dumping the drugs out onto my worn rug. Before I can take anything though, I need to hide the rest. My last lesson with being caught is one I won't soon forget, my backside was bruised for a few weeks after. Lost my allowance for a few months too, withdrawal from that was brutal. 

I finish slipping my hoard into the underside of my mattress, fingers brushing against the knife I also have concealed there. My hands shake more severely as I prepare the needles for use, Im going to need more than one dose tonight. A sharp prick in my wrist is all I feel before the drug is in my system, then the next. Only two of the higher doses today, not making the mistake of overdosing again. My entire body is shaking as the drugs course through my veins, a wide smile plastered across my face. I feel the smile grow wider as my head gets light, finally feeling the effects I have been craving for the past three days. The high is wonderful, my whole body feeling it sharply.

My head throbs when I wake up, pounding with the headache that often follows a high as large as last nights. I barely make it to the bathroom before throwing up, throat burning. Every bit of misery is worth the high though, anything is worth it to forget. Even just a little moment of numbness. I smile a little before heaving again, trying not to wake anyone else in the house. My face is covered in sweat, as is my bare chest. I don't remember stripping my shirt, but the frigid winter air feels good on my overheated skin. A knock on the door makes me jump, followed by a low voice and rattling of the door handle.

"Sherlock, are you okay?"

"Im fine Mrs Hudson."

She lingers a few minutes more, leaving when I don't say anything else. I puke again, wishing I could take more right now. I can't of course, I don't want another overdose. Most of my morning is spent in my room puking my guts out. I wake up sometime later, the taste of bile in my mouth. The sunlight streaming through my open window irritates my eyes so I draw the curtains closed. The floor is cold, so I shove the rug against the wall and lie stomach down on the hardwood. My mind wanders again, drawing me back to my misery. Mycroft comes by a few times trying to get me to come down and eat, leaving when I ignore him. I climb out the window again, still bare chested, and lie in the branches outside the window. Surprisingly, I fall asleep again, clutching Redbeards collar to my chest.

I wake up to John's face hovering inches above mine, sunset casting a golden glow across him. He pulls me back through the open window, forcing me onto my bed. I lie back with a groan, now feeling the full effects of last night.

"You did it again, didn't you? Bloody hell Sherlock! You promised! I thought that was the last time, that you would call me when you were feeling like that." 

He sighs and plops down onto the bed by my head, brushing my hair from my forehead. I push myself up, lying my head in his lap. I close my eyes, content to lie here with John Watson forever. John pries the collar from my fingers, setting it gently on my bedside table. He laces his fingers through mine, moving so my head rests on his chest. We fall asleep like this, tangled together. I jump up suddenly, rolling out of the bed. John chases after me as I stumble back to the washroom. I barely make it before I'm heaving again, bringing up what is hopefully the last of the drugs in my system. 

"Are you okay Sherlock?"

"Fine. Im fine."

He reaches into his bag, pulling a water bottle from it.

"Drink something at least, do you feel like you could eat anything of substance?"

I take the water, ignoring the offer of food. He stays by my side as I sit on the cold tile of my washroom, puking and drinking small sips of water interchangeably. John walks away for a moment, starting the water of my shower. 

"Get cleaned up Sherlock, I'll wait for you in your room."

He leaves the washroom, bringing back a fresh set of clothes for me before he goes again. I stumble into the shower, noticing he got the temperature correctly adjusted for me. The heat of the water helps clear my head a tad bit.


	4. Overdose

POV- John

     I rifle through Sherlock's room, trying to find where he hid his hoard this time. He has gotten worse about it, possibly close to another overdose. The door opens, revealing a still shirtless Sherlock. Water drips from his long curls, splattering like crystals when he shakes his head.

"Are you feeling any better?"

He doesn't respond, instead dropping his towel on the ground. Still dripping wet, he lies back on the bed. I make a mental note to continue my search later, distracted by Sherlock.

"Put your shirt on, dry off, something. It's bloody cold out Sherlock."

"Im fine."

I walk to the open window, intending to shut it. Sherlock chucks a pillow at me, grumbling something about leaving it alone. 

"Come back over here John, I'm cold."

"If you put some bloody clothes on..."

I walk over anyways, falling into his arms. His skin is still warm, though it is beginning to cool down. We lie here like this for a few minutes, savoring the togetherness. Sherlock presses his lips against my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. I twist around to face him, our lips meeting suddenly. He is feeling better, though his lips still feel feverish. I smile when he slides his hand below my shirt, resting it on my hip. We pull apart when someone knocks on the door, rattling the handle. 

"Brother, come out for dinner. Mother is worried about you, and father is bloody upset."

"Go away Mycroft, I don't care."

He presses back against me, carrying a note of annoyance in his actions now. I kiss him harder feeling him shiver again. He calms rather quickly, no longer thinking about Mycroft. My skin is suddenly exposed as Sherlock teasingly pulls my shirt half way up. I pull back and help him strip my shirt off fully. The air is cold, but with his body against mine it is easy to ignore. He lightly plants a line of kisses down my chest and stomach. I start a line of my own across his neck, feeling him relax against me. 

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you too Sherlock."

His lips slam into mine again, hungry for something. I feel it too, I want him. His hands are shaking, his attempt to steady them makes it more pronounced.

"What's wrong?"

"Withdrawal."

"Bloody hell Sherlock. How much did you have?"

He pulls back, lying down again. I pull my shirt back on, the moment gone. 

"What does it matter John? I said Im fine."

"It does matter. What happens when you overdose again?"

"I won't. I'm being more careful this time."

He rolls over, his back to me. Damn it. I can feel him slipping away again, I shouldn't have said anything this time. I stand, making a move to leave through the window again. 

"Don't. Please."

I turn back, surprised to see Sherlock standing by the bed. Something really is wrong, he usually would have pouted in silence for a while. I walk back slowly, telling him to sit back on the bed. He draws me back to his side, holding me till we fall asleep together. I wake covered in a thick woolen blanket, Sherlock nowhere to be seen. Something moves on the ground, catching my eye.

"Sherlock?"

"John. I...I couldn't do it. I'm sorry."

"What did you do?"

Silence.

"Sherlock?"

Shuffling, something else moves. 

"What did you do Sherlock?"

"I had to. I'm sorry John."

A cold feeling engulfs me as I realize what he means. 

"No. You....You didn't. Not so soon."

I stumble up, fumbling for the lightswitch. It clicks on, revealing the truth I want so hard not to be. Sherlock sits on the floor, scattered pills and a needle lying next to him. His eyes are wide and wild, too many drugs again. I slam his bedroom door open, nearly slipping down the stairs in my hurry to get down. He has shown me around the house before, only when his family and housekeeper are out, so I know where Mycroft's room is. He jumps when I burst through his door, cursing at me.

"Help. Please."

"Bloody hell! Who are you?"

"It's Sherlock. Again. Drugs. Help."

I'm stumbling over my words, terror muddling my thoughts. Mycroft falls out of bed and trails me back up the stairs to Sherlock. 

"What happened?"

"I don't know. I was sleeping, and woke up, and he was like this."

Sherlock flops onto the ground, head slamming dangerously against the floor.

"I need to get him downstairs. Go home, you shouldn't be here."

"No!"

Sherlock doesn't say anything else, instead grabbing my hand. I pick him up, noting he has dropped more weight, and rush downstairs with him in my arms. Mycroft starts his car, helping me slide Sherlock into the backseat. I slip in after him and help him lie against me. He is groaning, about to puke again. I roll him on his side,yelling at Mycroft when Sherlock throws up on the floor of his expensive car.

"Bloody hell! Keep better track of him please!"

I am suppressing a bit of laughter, Sherlock always finds a way to piss off Mycroft. This is ended when Sherlock latches onto my arm again, fingers digging into my flesh. 

"John."

Sherlock starts to slip out of consciousness again. 

"Sherlock! No, stay awake."

My voice cracks, we could lose him. His eyes snap back open, body tensing in pain again.

"John?"

"Im here."

"Don't leave."

"I won't. I promise."

He yells again, curling his body against my side. Mycroft takes a particularly sharp turn that sends us both to the other side of the seat, Sherlock yelps as my body comes down on top of his. I wince, knowing a few new bruises are already forming on his bare side.

"What the hell was that?"

"You. It was you Mycroft. Watch the bloody turns!"

"Shut up! Please!"

I sit back up, pulling myself off of Sherlock. He is yelling at us now incoherently. The drugs take over again and he is in a lucid state of inbetween. I try to lie him against me, his body wracked with pain. Every breath is laboured, sharp and short. Mycroft flings us across the seat again as he whips into the parking lot, receiving a glare and loads of cursing from both of us. I rush him into the hospital, stammering out his name and a brief description of the situation. The nurse takes one look at Sherlocks state and asks me a quick question. 

"Drugs?"

"Yes. Help him. Please? He needs help!"

I am struggling to keep it together now, both of us are screaming at the nurse. 

"DON'T TAKE ME AWAY FROM HIM! LET ME STAY!"

The nurse jumps back, Sherlock is wild again and she is trying to avoid being punched. Sherlock is in one of his moods again, not helped by the drug induced state he is in right now. I take a careful step towards him, yelling when I feel someone pull me back. Mycroft is dragging me back, away from the crazed Sherlock. The last thing he says before someone sticks him with a needle is my name. I break down in tears as they take Sherlocks lifeless body through the doors and away from us. Mycroft holds me long after they leave, trying draw something that makes sense out of me. I fall asleep like this, crying in the arms of a near stranger.


	5. Aftermath

I wake suddenly, trying to piece together where the hell I am. My limbs are heavy, whole body aching. John's hand is gripping mine, his head lying on the bed. Its not my bed. Not my room. Mycroft is sleeping in the other chair, snoring softly in the corner. 

"John?"

"Hmm? Sherlock, you're up!"

"Where am I?"

I try to sit up, attempting to grab John's hand as he shifts away. My hands won't move, bound at the wrists. The same is true with my chest and ankles. I feel my heart rate increase, I begin to hyperventilate. 

"Sherlock, calm down. Please. Breathe."

I struggle against the restraints holding me to the hospital bed, trying to break loose. Mycroft jolts awake when I yell at John, trying to get him to let me out.

"Hey! Sherlock, relax. You need to calm down."

John backs away, closer to Mycroft. Both of them are terrified, avoiding me as I lose my mind again. Im screaming things at them now, shaking the bed with my attempts to free myself. The IV rips out of my arm, knocking over the stand. The heart monitor is beeping rapidly now, bringing more people into the small room. My claustrophobia is kicking in alongside my anxiety. Too many people. A nurse walks calmly to my side, trying to help restrain me. They finally pin me back down against the bed, someone sticks another needle in my arm. Slowly I begin to calm, the sedative taking effect. Someone tries to pull John and Mycroft from the room, making me panic again. I cant move very well, being restrained and sedated, but I can still yell. I scream at everyone, falling into another state of blind rage. John comes back in and sits on the edge of the bed, ready to spring back up if needed. His hand slowly reaches up to my face, wiping the tears away.

"You're going to be okay. I'm not leaving, I promise. I'm staying right here."

A nurse stays in the doorway, keeping a close eye on me. John lies down on the bed beside me, pulling the restraints looser. The nurse makes a move to stop him, but backs off when John snaps at her. I manage to work my way out of the straps, reaching down to pull my legs loose. John watches me closely, still not fully trusting my sanity. I don't either. He pulls my head to his chest, knowing that listening to his heart beat will settle my anxiety to a manageable point.

"WILLIAM!"

John and I both jump up, him almost falling off the bed. My heart stops, only indication I'm still alive is the beep of the monitor. I reach my hand out, looking for John's. My father storms into the room, yelling at the nurse to leave. His eyes are murderous, clearly they found out what happened. My mum walks in, looking a mess. She remains silent, my father's presence filling the room.

"What the hell were you thinking? Do you want to die William! There are better ways of doing it!"

Im trembling again, barely feeling Johns hand in mine. In fact, he is gone, now instead stomping closer to my father.

"Bloody hell! Don't say that! Ever! Leave Sherlock alone, it's your fault he's in here anyways."

Mycroft rushes in and, noting the heated situation, pulls mother out of the room. Father yells at John now, further enraging me. I lunge at him, slamming into his chest. He slams me down onto the rock solid linoleum floor, releasing me as soon as I make impact. I jump back up, ignoring the sharp pains that shoot through my body. My hands lock around his throat, rational thought gone. Mycroft skids back in and drags me off of father, throwing him out of the room. I scream at Mycroft again, letting my rage spill over. He sits there and takes everything, not doing anything to stop me. John grabs me from behind after I punch Mycroft again, pulling me to the ground. I struggle for a few minutes, his arms locked around me. He finally manages to talk me down, waving off the nurse who runs in.

"I've got him. Go away."

She leaves, nervously looking at Mycroft before she walks out the door. Now that John has calmed me down, I realize what I have done. My brothers face and hands are covered in blood, though I'm not sure who's. John notices me looking around and pulls me closer to him. I turn and bury my face in his chest, crying and shaking again. He holds me tighter when the door opens again, I cant see who it is. Not that I care. Someone tries to pull us apart, backing off when both John and Mycroft protest. I relax again, knowing I am safe here in Johns arms. Him and Mycroft sit on the floor with me talking as I drift off to sleep.

I wake up back in the bed, John lying nestled against me. Mycroft is once again sleeping in the corner chair. I wrap my arms around John, feeling suddenly calm. 

"Hey, how're you feeling?"

"What happened?"

John explains the events of yesterday and the night before, finishing with how I almost broke Mycroft's nose. I start crying again, which visibly disappoints John. He has a sad look in his eyes when he looks at me, he can see just how broken I am. Mycroft wakes soon after and, seeing the state I am in, leaves the room. His face is swollen and red, a bit of dried blood still crusted to his nose. He returns later and tells me to get dressed. 

"What?"

"We're leaving. Now."

They leave and I hastily pull my clothes on, leaving the room as soon as I am dressed. John grabs my hand again and doesn't let go till we get into Mycroft's car.

"I just had this cleaned, if you could refrain from puking all over it that would be brilliant Sherlock."

"Don't remember doing that."

John pulls me against him again, holding me tighter than usual.

"What's goin' on John?"

"We're taking you to get some help."


	6. I’m an Otter

"Mycroft?"

"What?"

"He's going to be okay, right?"

We are driving away from Sherlock, leaving him where he can get help at the rehab centre. His near fatal overdose last night caused a hospital trip which ended in Sherlock going crazy. 

"He'll be fine, he comes home next week anyways. After that, he may have to move in with me in my flat."

Mycroft's cell buzzes, he takes the call immediately.

"Bloody hell!"

"What's wrong?"

"He already found a way out. And now we need to find him."

He drops me off at my flat after a few hours of searching, telling me he'll call me as soon as he finds Sherlock. I rush through the flat to get to my room, slamming the door shut in frustration. My room is dark, I turn on the lights quickly. Sherlock is sitting upside down in my armchair, staring blankly at the doorway. 

"Hello. Sherlock?"

I walk over and sit on the floor next to him, getting no reaction when I lie my head on his shoulder. He falls asleep soon after, snoring softly. I pull out my cell and dial Mycroft, wincing at the sharp tone of his voice.

"Why is he there?"

"I don't know. He is sleeping right now, I just found him in my armchair when I walked in."

"Ill be right over. See if you can get him to move or respond to you."

He hangs up, promising he won't be long. About ten minutes later, I am dragging an uncooperative Sherlock through the flat. Mum's at work, thankfully, so she doesn't see the commotion. He literally goes limp, plopping down in the front room. Mycroft runs into the house to help, just picking up his brother and taking him to the car. Sherlock is crying again, close to screaming at us. I hold my arms out to him and he falls into me, trembling. 

"Where are you taking him? Please don't take him back to the centre Mycroft."

"I don't intend to. We are heading to my flat, hopefully he can calm down before I take him home."

"No. He can't go back there either."

"He needs to."

Sherlock is shaking visibly now, Mycroft notices this in the mirror and speeds up. We stop in front of a large, upscale flat. I drag Sherlock out of the car, pulling him into the flat. 

"Set him down on the couch, let him lie down."

He lets me carry him into the room, not complaining when I lie him down on the couch.

"John?"

"Hmm?"

I look over and see how pale he has suddenly turned, he is about to puke again.

"Need to... washroom. Now."

He groans again, stumbling as I help him down the hall. Thankfully he remembers where everything is, so finding the washroom isn't that difficult. I stay with him as he throws up again, cursing. Mycroft runs in, no doubt making sure Sherlock isn't puking on his floor.

"Is he...okay?"

"He will be. Withdrawal is horrible, and he just overdosed. He isn't getting much rest for a few days. We need to keep him hydrated."

Sherlock heaves again, groaning. I rub my hand across his back, trying to calm him even a little bit. He stands shakily, leaning on me for support. I help him back to the couch, where Mycroft has left a few water bottles and a note saying he will be back soon. Sherlock collapses onto the couch, dragging me down with him. His skin is dangerously hot, I need to cool him down somehow. He lays his head on my chest again, falling asleep soon after. Mycroft comes back a few hours later, disappearing into the kitchen. He asks me if I want anything to eat, which I accept. Sherlock wakes soon after Mycroft brings the food out, mumbling something about hedgehogs. Nothing he is saying makes sense, mostly asking about the small woodland creatures. I manage to convince him to lie back down against me, shaking again. Mycroft looks worried, lying his hand across Sherlocks forehead. He tries to convince me to go home, only relenting when Sherlock wakes again.

"John?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Stay? Please."

"Of course. I'm not leaving you, I swear."

He relaxes against me, whispering something to me. I lean closer to him, trying to make out the incoherent ramblings of Sherlock Holmes.

"You look like him."

"I look like who?"

"The hedgehog from the forest."

"Oh."

Mycroft loses it, laughing so hard he can't breathe. Sherlock's voice came out a loud whisper, again repeating the stuff about me and the hedgehog.

"Yes. You really look like him."

His face is straight, not sign he is joking.

"You see it too Mycroft? JOHN IS A HEDGEHOG NOW! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH THE REAL JOHN YOU RODENT!"

Mycroft is doubled over laughing, the first time I have ever seen him smile let alone laugh. He manages to say something in response.

"Y...Yes Sherlock. I see it too."

"JOHN! THE WEASEL IS BACK AGAIN! HELP! GET IT OUT!"

Sherlock has a straight expression plastered on his face, staring at us as if we were the crazy ones. He points to Mycroft, rambling on about a weasel in the forest. I, still laughing, pull Sherlock against me. He doesn't protest, instead giggling about the hedgehogs again. 

"It tickles."

We sit laughing, unable to pull Sherlock back to reality. Its funny honestly, to watch someone as serious as Sherlock lose his sanity like this. 

"I am an otter John. Look at me!"

He slips out of my arms and falls onto the ground. 

"Sherlock, please sit down."

"Shhh! The weasel is going to find me. You need to hide too little hedgehog."

He jumps on top of me, shoving me under a blanket. I don't protest, wholly amused by the situation. Sherlock curls up next to me, trying to fit under the blanket with me. He wraps his arms around me again.

"Dont move hedgehog! The dragon already took John and Mycroft and the little otter, it cant get us too!"

His voice is slurred, jumbling his words together. He passes out in my lap, muttering still about the forest creatures. Mycroft gets up off the floor, still laughing hysterically, and tries to pull Sherlock off of me. 

"Hes fine, Ive got him."

He lets us stay together, both of us laughing about what just happened. 

"So..."

"What?"

"You're a hedgehog now? And he's an... Otter?"

"Better than being a weasel."

We laugh together as Sherlock snores. I fall asleep with Sherlock, smile still on my face. Mycroft sits back on the armchair and passes out there. 

I wake up to the sound of Sherlock groaning and wriggling around on top of me. 

"What's wrong my little otter?"

He stops moving, glaring up at me in confusion. 

"What are you talking about...otter?"

I bust out laughing again, waking Mycroft. Sherlock rubs his temples, groaning again. 

"Will you two stop it? My head hurts."

This only makes us laugh harder, trying to suppress it. 

"Did the hedgehog and weasel make it back home okay?" 

"Bloody hell you two! What are you talking about?"

"You don't remember anything?"

"Anything about what?"

I dont respond, instead start laughing again. 

"You... You where completely insane! Some huge hallucination about woodland creatures. And... And a dragon, for some reason."

"I dont know what you are talking about."

"Nothing at all, my little otter?"

He glares up at me again, shaking his head. Mycroft smiles down at us, struggling not to laugh again.


	7. Family Matters

  John and Mycroft sit and laugh at my obvious confusion. He keeps calling me his "little otter,"   Mycroft states something about weasels and calls John a "little hedgehog." They laugh again, making my headache worse. John, noticing my discomfort, suddenly turns serious.

      "Are you okay Sherlock?"

     Mycroft walks over to where we are lying, John below me, and places his hand across my forehead. John shifts to sit up, making sure I am still lying across his lap. My brother sits on the floor beside us, falling back asleep rather quickly. John and I sit together late into the night, talking about everything that has happened recently. He explains the hedgehog/otter/weasel thing to me, I chuckle weakly. 

     "How are you feeling Little Otter?"

     "Everything hurts and I feel like I'm going to hurl again." 

     He shifts back slightly, smiling down at me. 

     "As long as you don't puke on me or Mycroft."

     We both laugh at this, trying to quiet ourselves before we wake Mycroft. John tells me what I said earlier, sending us both into another fit of laughter. I get up slowly, heading for the washroom again. My stomach heaves, but I don't throw up again. I look up as both John and Mycroft walk into the small space, triggering my claustrophobia again. Mycroft backs out when I draw back, but John steps closer.

     "Are you okay?"

     Mycroft lays his hand on John's arm, telling him that I'm claustrophobic. 

     "I know."

     John crouches down beside me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. I struggle to steady the shaking of my body, trying to stay in control of my mind. John whispers softly in my ear, pressing my head against his chest.

     "You're okay Little Otter. I've got you. Its okay. Calm down, breathe."

     I feel myself begin to calm down, soothed by John's voice and the steady beat of his heart. 

     "How is he?"

     "He's doing okay, calming down. I didn't realize how bad his anxiety and claustrophobia where."

     "It gets worse when he's experiencing withdrawal or when he's coming off of a high. You are the only other person I have seen talk him down this well."

     My breathing doesn't even out, though we have been sitting like this for the past twenty minutes. John continues to hold me to his chest, still whispering soothingly in my ear. Eventualy, he picks me up and takes me back to the living room. Mycroft is in the kitchen again, cooking something for breakfast. He calls us to the table, insisting that we both eat something. John starts eating as soon as his plate hits the table, stopping only when he realizes I haven't started eating yet. Mycroft is also eating his breakfast. The smell of food makes me feel sick. Mycroft made eggs and bacon for them and, remembering I'm vegatarian, doesn't add bacon to my plate. I get up slowly, heading into the kitchen. John and Mycroft call after me, I hear a chair scrape against the hardwood. 

     "Sherlock, are you okay?"

     I stop to lean against the counter, grabbing an apple from the fruit basket. John places his hand over mine, pinning me to the counter. 

     "What's going on Sherlock?"

     I ignore him, pushing his hand away and walking back into the dining room. Mycroft looks up in surprise when I walk past the table, going to the library room in the back of the flat. I slam the door shut, sinking to the ground against it. Someone knocks on the door, pushing it open partway. 

     "Sherlock? Let me in please."

     John pushes the door open as far as he can, which is most of the way because I slide across the hardwood with the door. I am trying to keep it together, withdrawal making me violent. He doesn't care of course, just pushes through and holds me until the shaking subsides. 

     "Sherlock, what happened?"

     "I don't know John. I wanted to hurt someone, so I left."

     I make a move to pull away from him, but he doesn't let me go. Mycroft comes in a while later and picks me up, still half asleep, and takes me out to the car. He leaves me in the backseat and runs back into the flat for something. I wake up again when he slides John into the seat next to me. He starts the car and we drive off, John sliding over to nestle against me. I put my arm around him and fall back asleep. The car stops in front of a rather rundown flat, Mycroft pulls John from the backseat and carries him to the front door. A middle aged woman, probably John's mother, opens the door a crack. Her face lights up when she sees John, thanking Mycroft for bringing him back home. My brother stands there for a few minutes, explaining the situation I suppose. The woman looks at the car with a pitiful expression on her face, seeming worried about me. Mycroft walks back to the car slowly and, seeing I am awake, doesn't start it back up again.

     "Sherlock, I'm sorry. We need to get you back to the house though."

     "Why cant we go back you your flat Mycroft?"

     "Because I said no. You need to be home, just please don't make father mad again. I don't want you to do anything stupid Sherlock."

     "Obviously no one would care anyways. Only reason you took me is because John woke you up."

     He sighs loudly, opting not to respond. The ride over is short, but the minutes creep by slowly. Every second passing is another that my breath comes faster, my heart beating painfully hard in my chest. Mycroft hesitates before opening his door and jumping out, opening my door as well. He tries to pull me into a hug before we go in, but I push him away. The door opens, a worried Mrs Hudson behind it. She immediately grabs onto me, pulling me into a crushing hug. Father walks briskly around the corner, a mask of calm over the rage I can see just below the surface. He dismisses Mrs. Hudson with a nod, turning now to face me. I try to rush upstairs before he says anything, but am stopped by a hand on my shoulder. My father's fingers dig into my flesh, bringing tears to my eyes. He knows he hurt my shoulder when he slammed me into the wall a few days ago, bloody upset about something else I did. I wince, but don't give him the satisfaction of tears. Mycroft pulls fathers hand off of me suddenly, throwing me off balance. 

     "Leave him alone, Sherlock needs to go upstairs to his room. Now."

     I catch the hint and re-try my escape up the stairs. Father shrugs off Mycroft's hand and reaches out for my arm again. This time he jerks me backwards off the stairs, making me slam into the banister as I fall. I land hard on my wrist, screaming as I hear a loud popping sound. It hurts, a lot, and my whole arm is on fire. Mycroft immediately pulls me off the floor, being careful of my injured arm. He picks me up and carries me out the door, setting me down gently on the terrace. I groan in pain as my arm hits the cement, enraging Mycroft. He storms back into the house and the place goes to hell. Father is yelling back and forth with Mycroft, every word clearly heard on the street. Hot tears run down my face and splash onto my hands. As I sit here, I inspect the damage. My palm is cut open and bleeding, my hand resting at an odd angle. A few bruises have already formed along my hand and wrist, no doubt my shoulder will be the same. I struggle to stay quiet, knowing if I yell it will pull father out of the house. Mycroft makes a sudden reappearance, lifting me gently off the ground. Already fingers have started to numb, not a good sign. My arm is pinned between our bodies, making me whimper as pain shoots through it.

     "I'm sorry."

     He helps me into the car, taking care to drive carefully. Instead of going to the hospital, or even Mycroft's flat, he turns into the park. He parks under one of the street lamps, providing adequate light to inspect my injuries. 

    "Bloody hell Sherlock, its dislocated. You got lucky, it could have broken. I can pop it back in for you, or we could go to the hospital."

     "Would you?"

     "Of course. Hold still and I'll get it popped back in. It's going to hurt a bit, just try not to yell to loudly please."

     I steady myself as much as I can, trying to relax my arm. Mycroft counts to three before he pops it back into place. I bite down on my lip to avoid screaming again, drawing blood. He pulls me into a tight hug, not letting go for a few minutes. We stray further from the car, eventualy settling into a spot in the grass. Mycroft pulls blankets out of his car and we sit together. After a while of watching the stars, he apologises again for what happened. We settle back into a comfortable silence. 

     "Mycroft?"

     "Yeah?"  
    
     "There's something wrong with us, isn't there?"

     He doesn't respond, instead pulling me into another hug. I fall asleep in my brothers arms, staring at the stars.


	8. I Need You

     My cell buzzes, waking me abruptly. The glow of the screen makes me squint my eyes shut again, cursing when I see who is texting me. 

     I need you John, hurry please. @ Mycroft's. -SH

     What's wrong? -JW

     I want to do it again John. Help me. -SH

     I throw on a pair of clothes, sliding my tennis shoes onto my feet. My cell buzzes a few more times, Sherlock is getting impatient. 

     I'm on my way over. -JW

     Please hurry. I need you. -SH

   I'm worried now, he doesn't use his cell often. I get a call while I'm pulling my bike out of the stand, I answer to find its Sherlock again. 

     "Sherlock?"

     "Are you almost here?"

     "I'm on my way over right now. Are you okay?"

     "No."

     I start riding faster, pedaling as fast as I can while holding my cell. Mycroft's flat was about eight minutes by car, it takes me fourteen to get there. 

     "Sherlock, are you still there? "

     "Yeah."

     His voice cracks as he speaks.

     "Hey, I'm here let me in."

     I jump off of my bike, letting it clatter onto the pavement. The door opens to reveal a panicked Sherlock. He pulls me inside, bolting the door behind us. 

     "Sherlock, look at me."

     He raises his head to face me, tears falling from his eyes. He hasn't taken anything yet thankfully. I open my arms and he falls into me. We sit on the couch as he explains what happened last night. He winces when I shift, most of his weight being forced onto his right hand. I notice the way he springs back up, holding his hand oddly. 

     "What happened?"

     "Dislocated it last night, when I... fell. It's fine, just hurts."

     "Have you taken anything for the pain yet?"

     "I took something a few hours ago. Mycroft wont tell me where the rest is though."

     He curls back against my side, sliding under my arm. I take his injured hand in mine, trying to be as gentle as I can. 

     "What are you doing? That hurts John."

     "I know Little Otter, I just need to make sure you didn't re injure it."

     Sherlock lets me finish inspecting his hand, drawing in a sharp breath when I move it. The area is swollen and red, the heel of his hand is bruised. I can tell he is in pain though, so I tell him to go wake Mycroft. I walk into the kitchen and grab him a bag of ice, holding it on his wrist when he comes back into the room. He sits on the counter, irritating Mycroft, but isn't told to move down. 

     "When did you come over?"

      "Sherlock texted me. I got here about twenty minutes ago."

      Mycroft takes Sherlocks hand out from under mine, holding it gently in his. Sherlock stays silent for most of this time, not letting the tears that well up in his eyes fall. He does reach out to take my hand in his free one, squeezing it hard whenever Mycroft does something. 

     "We can't do much, the bone hasn't shifted since I popped it back in Sherlock. Do you want something for the pain?"

     He nods, and Mycroft leaves the room. I hear the door to his room open and he returns a few minutes later, pill bottle in hand. Sherlock's eyes light up, hands shaking. Mycroft fills a glass with water and hands a pill to Sherlock, quickly capping the bottle. He walks out again and goes to his room. Sherlock takes the medication while Im turned away, draining his glass. He hopps down from the counter and, still being careful of his hand, draws me into another hug. I hold him close until Mycroft returns, when he tells us to go into the sitting room. Sherlock and I go, Mycroft stays in the kitchen a while longer. He walks back in, three mugs in his hands. Two are set down on the table for Sherlock and I, while Mycroft keeps the last. He stays and talks with us while he drinks his tea. I grab my mug and find not tea, but hot chocolate. The chocolate is rich, with the perfect amount of cream. Sherlock remains standing the whole time, not touching his drink. Mycroft finishes his mug and pulls blankets for Sherlock and I. 

     "I take it you two aren't going back to sleep?"

     "No."

     Sherlock and I speak at  the same time, much to the amusement of Mycroft. He stands, bidding us a good night, and returns to his room. I notice Sherlock hasn't moved to sit down, instead he stands pacing the floor.

     "Sherlock?"

     He stops pacing and looks over at me, eyes blank.

     "Are you okay?"

     His phone buzzes and he lunges to grab it, checking the messages. He mutters something to himself, looking deep in concentration. I jump back when he falls onto the couch next to me, lying fully across it. The phone buzzes again and he checks it, continuing to mutter to himself. He suddenly turns to me, a smile plastered across his face.

     "John! We have a case!"

     "From who? Sherlock, its barely three in the morning. Who could you possibly be talking to?"

     "Doesn't matter, we have one though."

     "Are you going to sleep now Sherlock?"

     "As long as you are here."

     He wriggles his way over to me, lying his head on my shoulder. I notice he avoids putting pressure on his right arm entirely, from his hand to his shoulder. I make him sit up again, pulling back his shirt to look at his shoulder. It is covered in bruises, some of which look like fingermarks. A long cut runs across the back, looking to be caused by glass. 

     "Sherlock, what happened?"

     I let his shirt drop back into place, allowing him to lie back against me.

     "My father. Im fine John."

     He goes silent again, holding my hand when I lie my arm across him. I lie my head back, listening to Sherlocks breathing even out as he falls asleep. He moves sometime later, rolling to press his face against my chest. I hold him to me tightly, feeling how badly he is shaking right now. 

     "Hey, its okay. Sherlock, breathe. I've got you."

     Sherlock calms soon after I wake up, both of us managing to go back to sleep. Mycroft gets up for work, waking me before he leaves. He hands me the pill bottle of pain meds for Sherlock, making sure I slip it into my pocket. 

     "Don't give him the bottle. One every three hours. Are you okay to stay with him?"

     "We'll be okay. I have your cell, I'll call if we need help."

     "Thank you. Please don't let him do anything stupid, he trusts you enough that he will probably listen."

      "Of course. Don't worry."

     He leaves quickly, kissing Sherlock on the forehead before he leaves. Sherlock is snoring softly again, cute. I can't go back to sleep, no matter how hard I try, so I get up and head to the kitchen. Sherlock keeps sleeping, curling up under the blanket after I leave the couch. The lights blind me momentarily, leaving me blind for a minute. Mycroft left food on the counter for me, which I eat gratefully. A second plate of pancakes is also set out for Sherlock with a glass of milk. 

     "John?"

     Sherlock's head pops into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes as he steps in. He sits at the counter beside me and eats a little bit of his food, not much of it though. 

     "So, what're we doing today?"

     "Have a case to work on."

     He is avoiding the use of his right hand, obviously it's hurting him again. With Mycroft gone, he explains what happened to his shoulder and allows me to look at it. He pulls his shirt up most of the way, but I end up helping him take it off fully. After I check it out, he walks to the fridge and grabs the bottle of orange juice. His skin is dotted with bruises of different colours, at different stages of healing. The fact he doesn't pull his shirt back on is not missed by me. He sits on the counter next to me, pouring a glass of juice for himself.

     "Want some?"

     "Sure."

     I accept the glass from him, drinking it slowly. He reviews the details of the case with me, explaining everything he has so far. Someone knocks on the front door, ringing the doorbell after a few seconds. Sherlock jumps off the counter, walking slowly to the door. I trail him, stopping slightly past the doorway to the front room. The deadbolt clicks as Sherlock unlocks the door, popping his head around it. His body moves to block the doorway, shaking slightly. I can the tension in his shoulders, knowing the shaking isn't from the cold.


	9. Back

     My father stands on the terrace, a malicious look gleaming in his eyes. I take a step back as he takes one towards me, feeling John's hand on my arm. He speaks quietly, lips brushing my ear, unnoticed my my father.

     "Do you want me to call Mycroft?"

     I nod slightly, trying not to alert father of anything. John dials Mycroft's number, hand still on my shoulder. I can hear him talking softly behind me, trying to explain the situation to Mycroft. A few seconds later father tries to push past me into the house. I close the door quickly, but he is pushes it open anyways. 

     "John! Help!"

     John drops the phone, rushing over to help me. The door slams into the wall when father manages to open it. I put myself between him and John, who is fumbling to grab his cell off the ground. I don't see it coming, just feel a sharp pain across the side of my face. The impact sends me crashing to the ground, landing hard on my injured wrist again. Spots cloud my vision, but he isn't done yet. The best way to deal with this is to go far into my mind palace, far enough to not feel the impact of his blows. I need to make sure he doesn't drag me out of the flat though, I can't go back.

     "Sherlock!"

     I push myself up, trying to ignore the pain tearing through my arm. John is by my side, shielding me from as much as he can. Father tears him off of me, kicking me in the side again. Blood is running down my face, dripping onto the hardwood. I start laughing now, Mycroft is going to be pissed I stained his floors again. This makes him kick me harder, trying to shut me up. John pulls me away from him, moving us further away from the door.

     "You are coming home with me William. Now!"

     He grabs my injured arm, dragging me off the floor. John runs after us, being shoved back again. His head hits the wall and he falls to the ground, knocked out cold. I suppress a scream, knowing my wrist is dislocated again. Father drags me out of Mycroft's flat and shoves me into the car. The ride back to the house is brutal, every turn jarring my bruised body. I should be cold right now, with no shirt, but the pain blocks any feeling of cold I would have. He slams on the breaks when we pull up to the flat, I crash into the back of his seat. Blood smears all over it, still flowing from my nose. I fall when the door opens, being dragged back up quickly. No one else is home, not even Mrs. Hudson, so he doesn't care what happens. This is a very bad thing for me. 

     "You are going to stay home from now on, no more running off to hide behind your brother."

     He shoves me into the house, I fall again. The pain is unimaginable, much worse that it was last night. I cant handle it, I scream this time. Father drags me up the stairs, slamming my door shut after he throws me to the ground again. I curl up in the corner and cry, in too much pain to do anything else. My nose finally stops bleeding, though I am covered in blood completely. I realize my cell is in my coat pocket, and that my coat is still at Mycroft's. I force myself to sleep, barely resisting the urge to get high again. It would help right now, the first thing I think of when I open my eyes is this. My hands start shaking at the thought of shooting something into my system. I push myself up on my uninjured arm, limping to the open window. No one closed it, I should leave. Right now. 

     I carefully slide out the window, foot missing a branch on the way out. My legs slide out from under me, leaving me hanging onto the window with one hand. I fall of course, hitting most of the branches on the way down. For a few minutes, I just lie in the brittle grass, letting the pain sink in. It takes everything I have to push myself up and walk out the back gate. Instead of going back to Mycroft's flat, I head to Johns. His mum opens the door and, barely recognizing me, ushers me through into the front room. 

     "Can I use you cell please Mrs. Watson?"

     "What happened to you love? You look... horrible right now."

     "I need to call my brother. Please."

     She hands me her cell, still fussing over my injuries. I, with a great amount of difficulty, manage to dial Mycroft's number.

     "Sherlock? Where are you?"

     "I'm at Johns. Please come get me Mycroft."

     "How did you get there Sherlock? John is passed out on the floor, and there's blood all over the place."

     "Please, just come get me. Bring John."

     "Don't go anywhere. Don't call mother or mrs. Hudson. Sit down, and I'll be over soon."

     He hangs up and I hand Mrs. Watson her cell. She brings me a wet wash rag, trying to clean the blood from my face and chest. I wince when she touches me, resisting the urge to pull away too far. She backs off, seeing this. 

     "Sherlock dear, where is John?"

     "M...Mycroft is bringing him over now."

     "Is... is he okay? What happened?"

     "Father came to bring me home. John got in the way. I...I think he is okay, but he hit his head when he fell. Im sorry Mrs. Watson."

     She pulls me into a gentle hug, which hurts anyways, and tells me to sit down in the sitting room. I slide to the ground here instead, Mrs. Watson sitting by my side. Someone knocks on the door, startling us both, and she rises to answer it. I cant see who is on the other side, but John pushes into the room seconds after his mum opens it. Mycroft follows, apologizing for the situation. Mrs. Watson grabs onto John's arm, pulling him into a tight hug when he tells her he is okay. Mycroft crouches beside me, eyes tearing up when he sees what father has done this time.

     "Lets go Sherlock, I'm taking you back to my flat."

     "Do you need John to go back with you love?"

     "If you are okay with it Mrs. Watson."

     "Of course."

     "Thank you."

     Mycroft helps me to the car, going back to the door to get John. He comes out of the flat with a bag slung across his shoulder, kissing his mother goodbye before running out to the car. Mycroft starts the car and drives away, going as fast as allowed back to the flat. John lets me lean on him as we walk to the flat, leading me into the kitchen. I collapse on a chair, groaning as my arm is jostled against the wood. Mycroft rushes in, immediately running to me. 

     "Mycroft, my arm again."

     He takes my hand in his, cursing when he sees the damage caused this time. 

     "John, can you run out and grab med. supplies from the store? Take this, hurry back. Be careful please."

     John takes the cash from Mycroft and runs out. 

     "I am going to start with your arm Sherlock. Swallow these, it won't help much though."

     I take the pills in my hand, but don't swallow them. Instead I slip them into my pocket, with the rest I have collected since yesterday. I also have some of the drugs I bought a few nights ago, just in case I need something. Mycroft doesn't notice this, turning back to my injuries instead.

     "On three. It's going to bloody hurt, worse than last time Sherlock."

     He counts down again, popping my bone back into place. John runs back into the flat as I roll off the chair, screaming. I curl into a ball, trying to breathe through the pain. It takes both of them to pull me back off the ground, allowing me time to recover. I almost regret not taking the pills, but then remember I have them if I need them. Mycroft and John finish cleaning and bandaging everything that needs to be, cursing about the number of cuts and bruises I have. John pulls my head to his chest when Mycroft moves to work on my back, trying to keep me calm. It takes about ten minutes for them to finish, making me lie on the couch once they are done. Mycroft makes dinner, waking me sometime later to eat. I don't, again, but sit at the table with them. 

     "Sherlock, please eat something."

     "Im not hungry."

     Mycroft backs off, making sure I drink something at least. I try to help clear the table, but Mycroft kicks us both out of the kitchen. John helps me back to the couch, lying down and letting me lie against him. I wince when I lower myself down, worrying John again. 

     "Are you okay Little Otter?"

     "Im fine."

     He kisses me lightly on the back of my neck, telling me to get some rest.


	10. Recovery

Sherlock falls asleep rather quickly, shivering from the cold. Thankfully Mycroft comes back in with a blanket, and covers both of us. 

     "Get some sleep, wake me up if anything happens please. Thank you for staying over with him."

     He kisses Sherlock on the forehead again, looking back at us before he leaves the room.

     "Look after him, please."

     I fall lie awake for a while later, worried about Sherlock. He wakes when I get up off the couch, reaching out for my hand. 

     "John?"

     He is still half asleep, so I sit back down until he falls asleep again. I walk out of the room, heading to the kitchen for some tea. Mycroft is sitting at the counter, drinking tea in the semi dark room. Light spills in from the hallway, but not enough to be seen from the sitting room. 

     "Hi John. Tea?"

     I accept a cup, sitting across the counter from Mycroft. We sit in silence, drinking our tea.

     "How are you feeling?"

     "I'm okay. Bloody head hurts, but I'm okay."

     He gets up to rinse his cup, walking behind me to the freezer after. He hands me an ice pack and sets another cup of tea out.

     "My brother should wake up soon, he doesn't usually sleep through the whole night. Insomnia gets worse at times like this."

     I nod and he walks out, switching off the light as he walks back to his room. 

     "John?"

     "I'm in the kitchen Sherlock."

     He walks into the room a few seconds later, switching the lights on. I wave him over, handing him his cup and the ice. He refuses the ice, taking it and holding it against the back of my head instead. 

     "I'm sorry."

     "What for Sherlock? You didn't do anything wrong."

     "You got hurt trying to help me."

     "I wanted to help you."

     He hops onto the counter, cup in his injured hand, and sits indian style. I grab his free hand, trying to steady the shaking in his body. He does relax some, stops shaking as badly. No one gave him his shirt back, so he is still not wearing one. Not like he needs one, he is cute after all. He notices me looking, and leans down to kiss me. I sit up on my knees, now almost head level with him. Mycroft comes back in, yelling at Sherlock to get off the counter. I look up, a small smile is on his lips. His expression quickly turns somber when Sherlock turns to face him, he can see the bruises that have started to deepen in colour. Mycroft reaches out to embrace Sherlock, pulling him into a hug. They stay like this for a few minutes, neither one moving. Sherlock stumbles back suddenly, groaning.

     "Sherlock? Are you okay?"

     "Hospital."

     "What?"

     "Take me."

     Mycroft is silent, not spesking through our exchange. He does, however, grab his keys and make sure Sherlock makes it out to the car okay. Once in the car, he takes off quickly, wasting no time on the drive. He skids to a stop outside the front doors, yelling at me to take Sherlock in. I jump out of the car, guiding Sherlock out. 

     "Get him checked in, I'll get parked and come in. Here, make him put this on at least."

     Mycroft throws Sherlocks coat at us, driving off again. We walk in, Sherlock leaning heavily on me, and stumble to the front desk. The nurse sitting there stares at Sherlock for a few seconds before disappearing down the hall. She returns minutes later, another nurse in tow. 

     "What happened?"

     "He got in a fight."

     Mycroft appears behind me, hand on my shoulder. I don't speak, letting the lie settle. They take Sherlock to a room, allowing us to follow. Mycroft explains Sherlocks injuries, leaving out the real cause. 

     "Twice dislocated wrist, bruises and abrasions from being kicked, and ah...recent drug overdose."

     Mycroft taps the tip of his umbrella on the floor, a finalizing statement to his list. 

     "Overdose on what?"

     "I'm not sure, didn't get a list this time."

     "Pardon?"

     "Nothing. I dont know the drugs he used. We gave him some pain medications a few times within the past day, nothing in the past three hours though."

     She takes Sherlocks vitals, turning to Mycroft for things like weight and height. He is groaning again, face showing plenty of pain. 

     "John?"

     I walk over, taking his good hand when he reaches out for me. The nurse works around me, needing Sherlock to remain calm through her inspection. 

     "I need him to remove his coat please, and his shirt."

     Mycroft chuckles, telling me to help Sherlock out of his coat. The nurse looks confused when she sees he dosent have a shirt on, shaking it off rather quickly before continuing to check his injuries. Sherlock's grip on my hand tightens when she presses along his ribs, checking for breaks. 

     "Nothing broken, possibly a bruised rib or two though."

     "And his wrist?"

     Sherlock doesn't complain when she moves his arm, though he does turn and press his face into my coat. I put my hand on the back of his neck, letting him stay like this until she is done. He comes out on his own, face red and tearstreaked. 

     "It was dislocated badly. You need to rest it..."

     I block out the rest of what she says, trying to calm Sherlock down. Mycroft pulls him off of me eventually, carrying him out to the car. 

     "He'll be okay. Don't let him out tomorrow, please don't let him answer the door either."

     "We'll be okay this time, your father won't do anything so soon after, will he?"

     "I don't know."

     I wake Sherlock when we get back to the flat, helping him back inside. He lies down on the couch immediately, falling back asleep quickly. Mycroft tells me to go back to sleep again, covering us with a blanket after I collapse next to Sherlock.

     "Good night John."

     "Good night Mycroft."

     Sherlock stirs slightly when Mycroft leans down to kiss his forehead, hugging his brother before he leaves. 

     "Night John."

     "Good night Sherlock. Love you."

     "You too."


	11. The Pirate Game

I open my eyes suddenly, feeling John shift behind me. 

"Go back to sleep Little Otter."

He kisses my neck, snuggling closer to me before relaxing. My mind wanders, bringing the pain into sharp focus. I struggle to return to my mind palace, needing an escape without waking John. He doesn't stir when I roll off the couch, moving to the armchair instead. It doesn't take long to enter my mind palace, just a few moments of concentration. I visit my favorite places, mostly my tree with Redbeard. There is one memory I travel back to specifically though, one of Mycroft and me. 

~~~It was the middle of summer, father away on a few months of business. We were playing at the park, me only about five. Mycroft would have been about twelve at the time. We where playing a game of pretend, the playground became our pirate ship. It was the day Mycroft gave me my coat, the one I still wear when I'm missing him. 

"I'm the captain! Take the ship around port side Mycroft!"

We stayed at the park for hours, searching for the "treasure" Mycroft swore was hidden somewhere for me. I finally found it, a white box hidden in the bushes. He smiled warmly down at me, he smiled a lot back then, and encouraged me to open it. I tore the top off, excited as he was to see what was in the box. Mycroft sat by my side, laughing when I tried it on. He had gotten me a very oversized black trench coat. I practically drowned in the fabric, engulfed entirely. We sat laughing together for quite a while before resuming out game of pirates. I ran around in that coat for the rest of the night, only taking it off for dinner at mother's request. She was happy that we had found something to do for the summer, smiling as I re-animated our day to her. ~~~

"Sherlock? Can you hear me?"

Someone is shaking me, pulling me from my mind palace. Mycroft runs in seconds later, shouting at John to leave me alone. 

"What was that? Are you high again?"

John is looking at me with concern, turning to Mycroft as he explains my mind palace to him. I pretty much tune them out, disapointed to be back on the pain of the real world. 

"Sherlock? Where did you go this time? You had quite the smile on your face."

"The pirate game. When we where small."

He chuckles, further confusing John. 

"What is going on?"

I turn to John and explain as much as I can and, much to our relief, he seems to understand enough. Mycroft leaves for work, reminding us not to answer the door to anyone this time. 

"Are you still on that case?"

"Sadly, no. Stupid rubbish, this fight with father. Ruined my chances of going anywhere to help."

"Could do something else today."

"Like what my Hedgehog?"

"Exactly that. We have a whole free day today, and you are supposed to be resting."

I sigh as he pushes me onto the couch, avoiding my injured arm, and sits beside me. I do enjoy it, John being pressed against me like this. His lips find mine quickly, pulling me to him. He deepens the kiss, tipping his head back. I am able to ignore the pain enough to enjoy this, the rare moment we are completely alone. The bruises that are scattered across my body throb as we press our bodies closer together, reminding me exactly where fathers shoes sunk into my flesh. I ignore this as much as I can, pinning John to the couch. He wraps his arms around me again, shifting so he sits on my lap. My hands shake, the room is cold. John pushes me backwards again, making me lie down fully. We lie tangled together all day, kissing each other between naps. He finds that I enjoy it when he kisses along my ear, teasing me with it now. 

"You like that, don't you my Otter?"

"Of course."

He cuts me off, again pressing our lips together. My arm gets pinned between us, shooting pain through my body again. John notices this when I push him away, whimpering in pain. 

"Sorry. I'm rubbish at this."

He pulls the bottle of pain meds from his pocket, giving me one. When he leaves to get me a glass, I dry swallow two of the pills I have saved in my pockets. 

"Here."

I take the glass, swallowing the third pill. John doesn't suspect anything, instead allowing me to pull us back together. We spend most of the day like this, John in my lap, kissing each other. He knows I am enjoying it, apologizing when we have to break apart. We fall asleep together, not waking until Mycroft gets home. The pain from my arm is gone, no doubt because I took a few extra pills. 

"What did you two do all day?"

Mycroft smiles knowingly, smirking at me. John sits up, pulling me up as well. 

"I'm going to start dinner, what have you eaten today?"

We look at each other, sharing a smile before I explain that we haven't eaten. 

"You are rubbing off on John I see. Not in a good way Mr. Watson. Definitely not in a good way. You are both eating tonight."

We laugh again, John planting another quick kiss behind my ear before walking into the kitchen.


End file.
